


Take it to the floor

by cryogenia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M, bucky barnes vs the 21st century, sam wilson vs bucky barnes vs the 21st century
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 02:31:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4330440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryogenia/pseuds/cryogenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Wilson has survived car crashes, surface-to-air missiles, and actual goddamn secret SHIELD Nazis. </p><p>He might not survive Bucky Barnes on the dance floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take it to the floor

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short, sweet bite of Sam/Bucky for your Sunday :)

Sam’s never understood how Steve was supposed to be so bad at dancing - for a ridiculous tank-sized Dorito, the dude is light on his feet. He’s seen Steve flip over the side of a building and land on the balls of his feet; he runs with high steps like a goddamn show pony. And he does know the steps, it’s not like he never dealt with choreography. He charmed Sam’s mom right off by asking her for a waltz, and right now he’s taking Natasha through a passable version of foxtrot. But forty minutes and eleven songs in, Sam is starting to see why Bucky’s the one Steve points to. Steve’s okay with a partner, adapts what he knows. When Bucky realizes his style doesn’t fit what the music is doing, he pulls his hair back into a messy little bun and wades into the crowd head-first.

Which is kind of a problem  _at Sam’s little sister’s wedding._

And he has been doing his level best to stay out of it. Most days it’s 50/50 that they can handle the mall, let alone a hotel full of strangers. Well, mostly strangers. The crew met his whole family last summer at a reunion (that went sideways without the help of aliens or superheroes at all, god bless his lovable, hyper-dramatic aunts). Compared to the Wilsons, Kayla’s husband’s family is hopelessly outnumbered. Maybe that’s why Bucky feels comfortable enough to be out on the little tiled patch of dance floor, or maybe it’s just that Natasha’s managing Steve. And Sam is not big on dancing himself, and he is not about to begrudge the dude his happy, but he really, really wishes Bucky would go be happy somewhere away from his pack of baby cousins. Every family’s got that weird cousin (and Sam knows he’s the pan cousin), but is there a reason Bucky had to be adopted by every last one of Sam’s goddamn wild cousins? The things they are teaching that dude might be illegal outside a club or a Nicki Minaj video. 

Kayla thinks it is goddamn hilarious, and told him already to mind his own business.

He kicks the rest of his beer back hard, looking at the bottle instead of the ongoing disaster. He catches Bucky’s smile out of the corner of his eye, calculating in a way that has never ended well for anybody. Dominique is right there with him, pointing and whispering and giggling.

“Heineken,” he tells the bartender when she drifts over to pick up his empty. If he’s going to deal with this, he might as well get a head start on the poor life choices. Bucky’s catching his gaze again, holding it with the kind of heat that again, is hot as hell - absolutely not appropriate for a drink-ticket wedding. Sam makes sure to tip the lady high, because the way Barnes is making a beeline for him, things might be getting super fucking embarrassing. Bucky even walks to the beat, sidles across the dance floor like his hips are made of liquid. 

Bucky arranges himself against the bar like a permanent fixture, every inch of him poised and telegraphing ‘relaxed’. There’s a deep black shimmer to his waistcoat, some kind of two-tone cloth that ripples in the low light. His hair is sleek and pinned back around his face, not just with clips but little twisted braids like the ones Thor wears on special occasions. 

“Hey sugar, are you rationed?” 

Sam draws in a deep breath, tries not to think about how good Bucky  _smells_. Exotic flowers and something spicy, wrapped together with machine oil in a way that should be terrible but instead screams outdoor sex. Whoever is responsible for that shopping trip?  They are fired. Sam doesn’t care if they don’t get paid. He’s firing Steve and Natasha from life. 

“All right, I’m gonna call bullshit,” Sam finally pronounces. He grins. “There is no way that is a line real people used.”

Bucky’s face shifts into that terrifying dead-eyed poker stare for all of three seconds, before he laughs and claps Sam’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he admits. “We Googled that one.”

Sam rolls his eyes.

“You know one of these days the American public is going to catch on to this ‘good old boys’ act you two got there. Those girls you were talking to are gonna realize you’re telling ‘em stories about how Brooklyn was uphill both ways.”

Bucky shrugs.

“Beats those PUA pieces of shit. You heard about these jackoffs?“

Sam tips his beer in acknowledgment. "Heard Steve put his fist through a laptop.”

“Yeah,” Bucky scratches the back of his head, embarrassed. “Thought he could use some new material, but holy shit. You talk to a woman like that, you ought to just cut off your own balls and save her the trouble.”

He glances across the scattered dance floor to catch his best friend’s eye. Steve is chatting with some girl from the groom’s side, a short, heart-faced woman with hips wider than his shoulders. Bucky gives him a proud thumbs up.

“That’s how it is?” Sam asks, a little suspicious.

“That’s how it is. He’s gotta learn how to make friends sometime.” Bucky leans in close enough to brush his chest all the way up Sam’s front. “In case you haven’t noticed, he’s pretty crap at it.”

There’s a lot of things Sam could say right now. For one, that Steve actually does pretty well for himself. He might not know how to serve cheesy one liners like they’re gourmet, but Sam met him at the Mall and he will never buy again that Steve Rogers is too innocent to flirt. Then again, he could also think a little harder about Barnes having to Google his Velveeta game, because he’s damn sure once upon a time the kid had an actual repertoire. Selfishly, he just doesn’t want to think about how sad it is that Barnes had sex burned out of him, too.

Well. Maybe not exactly. Bucky may not remember the spoken words, but his body language still speaks volumes. His ‘friendly’ hand is no longer on Sam’s shoulder, but he isn’t exactly backing off. If anything, the minute amount of space between them is all the more potent because Barnes is just  _this_  close to touching.

“Is that what we’re doing?” Sam breathes. “Making friends?”

“Close enough for government work,” Barnes smirks. Just the tiniest roll of his hips shows Sam exactly how close they are and Sam is not too proud to admit he gasps.

“Now c’mon, is your dance card full?  Cause I’m pretty sure you should pencil me in.”

“Pretty damn sure dance cards are Victorian,” Sam complains. He doesn’t fucking know. Bucky is slipping his hands up Sam’s back - both hands - and that is tops on the list of kinks he never expected, but fuck it. The prosthetic hand is heavy and powerful, zeroing right for the knot in Sam’s trick rotator cuff, and Sam puts all his focus into not making an O face.

"You can help me catch up,” Bucky purrs. “I got some new steps I think we’ll both like.”

Sam squeezes the Heineken for dear life. Finally sets it on the bar, letting go of his sanity altogether.

“Just so you know,” he tells Bucky. “Whatever they told you when they sent you over here?  It’s a lie. Only grace I got is in the air.”

“That’s okay,” Bucky says, tugging him backward away from the bar. His smile is like a shark’s, all white teeth and hunger. “You’re a smart guy. You’ll figure it out.”

They wind up on the outskirts of the dance floor, just as a new song kicks in. Deep, throbbing bass; the kind that reverberates down to the bones, and Bucky starts shimmying full body to the beat. Christ. It’s been so long, Sam has no idea where to even put his hands. He doesn’t miss the little hitch that happens when he loops his arms around Bucky’s waist, the way Bucky’s entire body goes tense. He almost pulls away except Bucky gives him a look to end all looks and shoves his hands down lower. Way lower.

“There,” Bucky says gruffly. “That’s better.”

Sam is very much not sure about “better”, given that his hands are now very aware exactly how many glut muscles flex when Bucky dips to the left.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s chin juts out hard, as if daring him to ask again.

They gyrate in a couple tight circles, guided by the wicked swing of Bucky’s hips. Barnes seems to be relaxing by inches, pressing closer and closer until his nose is nearly trailing down Sam’s neck. 

And then he drops it down, and Sam forgets to breathe.

It’s different than being with a girl, or at least, the last girls he remembers dancing with in college. He’d been the quiet closeted guy back then, English major, going out with other similarly introverted literary kids. There is nothing shy at all about the way Bucky sinks down in front of him, bending until he’s nearly on the floor between Sam’s legs (and if that is not a wet dream come to life, he’s not sure what would be). Sam loses his grip almost immediately, too stunned to follow him down, but it doesn’t matter. Bucky rolls his entire body and pops himself back up in a single, glorious thrust, rubs against Sam’s front so nice it leaves Sam seeing stars.

“Oh my god,” he rasps, seizing at Bucky’s ass again. Feels it ripple beneath his hands as Bucky’s hips keep working. 

“You know they used to call me ‘the Hurricane’,” Bucky croons. Leans in close and mouths against Sam’s ear. Sam can practically taste his sweat. “You wanna take a spin?”

“Still calling bullshit,” Sam laughs, but his arms wrap around Bucky’s shoulders anyway, letting Bucky carry him, rocking him like they’re one creature. This has bad idea written all over it, and it’s still not appropriate for a wedding, but he is smiling and Barnes is smiling and for right now, he’s along for the ride.

And Dommi is his new favorite cousin.


End file.
